


CreativeVolk

by xianvar



Category: Dappervolk (Video Game)
Genre: Autumn Festival Creativity Prompts, Gen, Prompt Fill, Tags to be added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:20:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27641309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xianvar/pseuds/xianvar
Summary: Prompt Fills for Dappervolk's Festivals. Because apparently I cannot keep away.
Kudos: 1





	1. Trout's Turnip Carving

**Author's Note:**

> I mean, if I finally write something after _years_ , I might as well archive it, eh?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Trout attempts to carve a turnip-o-lantern, what does it look like?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Autumn Festival Promps](https://dappervolk.com/forum/topic/28584-autumn-event-hub-open) (non-public DV forum thread).

The turnip was plump, round, and kind of small. Trout stared at it in consternation. He had heard, from a few different travelers, that folks outside the forests (or more correctly, outside all the areas around the forest he knew of) didn't carve turnips. Apparently they used _pumpkins_ for their carving, and for a short, fleeting moment, Trout felt jealous of them. A pumpkin, even the small sugar pumpkins, probably gave way more space to work with. But no, that wasn't fair to his beloved turnips. It wasn't their fault others had bred and bred and bred to get bigger, rounder squash. Turnips were much superior in other ways -- not least because he himself was one.  
  
A new sense of determination filled him, and so he grabbed one of his tools and got to work.  
  
Carving a turnip was a soothing thing. Oh, he had no doubt that his final result would be somewhat misshapen and probably require a decent amount of imagination to convey what he hoped it would, but he considered this an upside. Turnips were unique and each had their own flaw -- a slightly wobbly middle, a too long root, maybe it had grown not straight but slightly unevenly -- but that made it all the easier to really appreciate each sprout for what it was: a unique gift from nature.  
  
His work slowly took shape under his ministrations, and before he knew it, he was looking down at his finished work. His turnip had been far from perfect: it was one of those with a slant, and had had a dent near the top. But he had worked with those features, and was, indeed, more than a little proud of it now.  
  
He took one of the little miniature sprites who had agreed to light his lantern for a short while and coaxed it into the carved turnip. A warm glow spread out of the carved lines, seemingly moving into Trout's chest and filling it, too, with a feeling like that glow.  
  
He thanked the sprite, and knew without a doubt that he would be always able to picture the stylized carving he had made, depicting him and a few other turnips like him around a small bonfire, flickering with the light of the sprite.


	2. Barclay's Monster Design

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Barclay attempts to design an ideal villainous monster, what do they look like?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Autumn Festival Promps](https://dappervolk.com/forum/topic/28584-autumn-event-hub-open) (non-public DV forum thread).

Living in the forest, for the most part, was pretty boring on its own. Not that Barclay’s days necessarily were boring -- there were the shenanigans with the other witches, and the resulting annoyance from Irin and Magdalene whenever their … friendly-ish rivalry spilled over into the two non-witches’ part of the forest. It kept life interesting to a degree. But it was still… an empty sort of interest. Sometimes, Barclay wondered, if life wouldn’t be … different, maybe even better, if he had a friend by his side. But making a friend was a pretty daunting task -- what if he did it wrong and the result looked ugly? No, it was much better to start with a monster. Nobody could fault him if it was ugly. In fact, ugly was kind of the goal. 

And so Barclay set to work, gathering his materials: sticks and branches for bones, pebbles and splintered stones for eyes and claws (better take more of those, more than two eyes were proper for a monster, right?), grass and leaves to coat his monster with. Clay he could find around his hut, he figured, and indeed the ground felt like the right consistency when he experimentally dug into it. 

He crouched down and began the construction work, applying bits of magic to keep the parts in their correct position. 

The sun was setting by the time he was finished, gross and sweaty and exhausted, but filled with a certain sense of pride. His monster… was hideous. Seven legs, not all of them reaching the ground, ending in feet with wickedly sharp claws, two pairs of make-shift, skeletal wings protruding from the weirdly twisted back, fur consisting of dark leaves with some yellow flowers interspersed -- which made it look even more disturbing, in Barclay’s opinion -- and five eyes, glowing underneath the menacing glower the creature’s face was contorted into. Yes, it was a hideous, horrendous, amazing monster.

Barclay turned around to clean off his hands on an old rag, only to whirl back when there was the rustle of leaves. Everything was still, but the shadows danced over his monster in unsettling ways. Had it just moved? No, it was probably merely the wind, Barclay tried to reassure himself. But he wasn’t entirely sure, and did not take his eyes off his creature as he backed away into his home, bolting the door with all the locks already on there (and a few that hadn’t yet been on there before).

When he chanced another look outside the next morning, there was no sign of his monster. Barclay swallowed, and determinedly did not think about what that would mean for the security of the forest.


	3. Mystery Book, Take I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A worldhopper in a Library.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: _Mystery Book_  
>  _"Your world-hopper is in a Library, what kind of book do they pick out?"_
> 
> [Winter Festivity Promps](https://dappervolk.com/forum/topic/33504-winter-festivities-creativity-contest) (non-public DV forum thread).

Libraries are magical places. They are gateways to other worlds, places of refuge, to my experience non-judgemental. 

This library is not an old one. It reminds me of -- of something I cannot put my finger on. There are many things I cannot put my finger on, these days. I think I used to have an identity that is not me in the now, before. Before I woke up in this land. This library is housed in a surprisingly solid structure at the outskirts of the Port, beyond the Peddler's tents. It's not a tent, but a proper, solid house, with three floors that are not quite on top of each other. The entrance opens into the middle floor, a counter with ledgers and piles of books to the left. A colourful sign proclaims the stairs straight ahead to lead to a children's and youth section. It's not a proper, full story higher -- more of a half story. This makes the Middle Floor have a higher ceiling; the upper floor ends in a railing that allows one to look out at the floor below. There's another set of stairs leading down, to a 'proper' floor beneath the children's section. It is like someone took out the outer wall of the building containing those two floors and attached a new single-story building at half height. I love it. 

I spend some time browsing the books -- there are many; surprisingly many for how sparse this world sometimes seems, and yet I cannot help but feel unsettled. There is a niggling thought at the back of my mind, like I expect not ledgers but something else on these counters, like I expect book covers that are not made from cloth and leather. I push it resolutely from my mind and venture into the recipe section. Scrolls are bound together here, on different topics. There are cooking scrolls, detailing dishes that are mouthwatering -- sometimes from sounding delicious, and sometimes from my urge to gag just reading them. It feels like some of these recipes are more designed to poison the recipient than create a meal, but who am I to judge?

There are also alchemy scrolls, written in familiar handwriting. There are many more written by worldhoppers than I expected -- there is something... different in their writing, not unsure like children, but like they are unsure of the writing system, like they learned a different system at some point. I know, because I feel the same way, and my writing looks not-quite-right, even after almost a full year of practicing.

I leave the scrolls behind -- I am here for pleasure reading, not for yet more educational content. On a whim, I walk up the stairs to the children's section. There is something about books for children -- a certain innocence, a something that is often lacked by adult books, that I find very informative in a non-thrust-upon way. I pick out a book with fables, bound in supple leather and with hand-drawn illustrations on the pages. It will be a good read -- from a brief glance, the language is evocative, and I cannot wait to see what the fables will teach me about this world and its inhabitants. Maybe I am incapable of pure pleasure reading, I muse as I watch the librarian enter the information and note down my name. But I know I will have fun.


	4. Mystery Book, Take II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Worldhopper and Johaness in a different library.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: _Mystery Book_  
>  _"Your world-hopper is in a Library, what kind of book do they pick out?"_
> 
> [Winter Festivity Promps](https://dappervolk.com/forum/topic/33504-winter-festivities-creativity-contest) (non-public DV forum thread).

“Xia? Are you ready to leave?” Johaness’s voice is impatient and just this side of too loud for a library, but the librarian only smiles. They’re the only two ones here; apparently Monday before noon is not a terribly busy time for the local library. It doesn’t much look how Xia expected it to — but then, neither did the Constellation Library, and she can’t quite put words into what she expected. Maybe a proper building, and not merely a tent, stuffed with surprisingly sturdy shelves. It doesn’t look practical to move with, though there are enough merchants here at the Port that have yet to pack up and travel on in the year she’s been here. Still, they live in tents, but who is she to judge? Maybe they enjoy the feeling of being able to, in theory, uproot their lives and move on.

“Hm?” Johaness prods, startling her from her thoughts.

“Oh I — I was just trying to decide between the two books, then we can go.”

“Why don’t you check out both?” Johaness looks up at her, like this is the most obvious solution, and maybe it is. But Xia is trying not to disappear into the books again, not to lose her entire self for Spirits know how long in other worlds than this one. There is too much going on at the moment to do this, so limiting herself to one book on each trip seems like the safest option. 

She stares at the covers. The book in her right hand is bound in leather, cracked in places. It is old, she thinks, the pages yellowed and the writing fading, but beautifully preserved on the inside. It would be … educational to take this one, to learn more about the ancient miners up near Sylvie’s Mine. The other one is bound in rough cloth, sealed with some kind of wax — she thinks, it has a weird texture while still being undeniably cloth. The librarian had recommended it; it is some sort of mystery book, no romance (the librarian had winked at her after she’d asked about this, describing it a tale of friendship). She knows she should go with the educational one, but … Johaness sighs behind her, so with one last glance she makes up her mind. She’s doing enough studying and hunting for clues in her day-to-day life, she can afford to just take some pleasure reading.

She replaces the leather bound book carefully on its place on the shelf and turns around, almost tripping over Johaness who is kneeling by Emmy’s side, stroking the Swamp Hound carefully.

“Oops,” her companion grins, unapologetic, and she snorts as she makes her way over to the librarian to get her book written down in the library’s ledger. Maybe she should have gone with the more educational text — undoubtedly, her life here is mystery enough. But ah, too late. Maybe this book will help distract her from her unbelievable life in this strange, strange world.


End file.
